


A fire in the belly (that you set)

by Sylphid



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: AU where soph isn't a captain, An unbelievable amount of it, Fluff, M/M, They're both kinda dorks, but kiawe still is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 03:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10867881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylphid/pseuds/Sylphid
Summary: Molayne likes to take Sophocles to dinner every now and then, just to make sure he's doing alright.Sometimes, dinners lead to Charizard rides with Trainers' School crushes and unexpectedly mutual blushing.





	A fire in the belly (that you set)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [turnaround](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnaround/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY!! This is like--rushed, and hella gay. But I hope you enjoy!!

“Out of all the places you could’ve picked, you went with _this_ one?”

Molayne gives Sophocles a noncommittal shrug. “It seemed like it could be fun.”

The restaurant is hot, stuffy, and positively _packed_. Apparently, it’s the place to be on a Saturday evening. But Sophocles has never been one for a crowd, and he can’t help but shrink into his chair as the torches burn, the people cheer, and the drinks splash everywhere. For what it’s worth, he’s impressed that he’s still there.

He heaves a sigh out of him like a plump bag of air. “You have the weirdest tastes, Mo.”

“Only for you, Soffy,” Molayne responds, smirking.

Sophocles groans. He isn’t quite sure when his cousin started calling him that, but he is sure that it’s one of the most embarrassing nicknames ever. And Molayne’s been in his life forever. He’s the one that convinced his parents to let him attend the Trainers’ School in Alola, after all.

“Are you ever gonna stop calling me that?” Sophocles grumbles, sitting back in his chair. “I’m almost eighteen, for crying out loud!”

“Mm, but you’ll always be my little cousin,” Molayne hums, closing his eyes.

“Great,” Sophocles mutters, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t let it show, but Sophocles is actually inexplicably grateful for Mo and his teasing--all his nagging and his care. And so he smiles; it’s small, sure, but Molayne sees it anyway.

Molayne cards through the menu as he continues to talk. “You know, Saturday nights always feature special performances.” He points to the stage behind him, surrounded by tables, seemingly almost pushed out of the way. “ _Fire dancing_ is on the menu for tonight.”

“No wonder there are so many people here,” Sophocles mumbles.

If there’s one thing that can draw a crowd, it’s fire. No one really cares what you do with it, as long as they aren’t put in harm’s way. Light something up and you’ve just won the attention of every single person in the venue. _Except for me_ , Sophocles thinks to himself. _You’ll have to be a little more impressive than just being able to dance with a fiery stick._

“Everyone loves a good show,” Molayne singsongs, leaning ever closer towards Sophocles.

“I’d rather watch my anime,” Sophocles grumbles, scooting slightly away from Molayne. “At least I know what to expect from that.”

Molayne frowns. “What’s the matter with a little fun every now and then?”

“I don’t consider surprise shows at dinner to be _fun_.”

“How is it a surprise? I told you exactly why we came here and what was happening tonight!”

“Yeah, but not until _after_ I showed up here,” Sophocles snorts, reaching out for a piece of bread. After taking a bite, he continues with his sourdough speech: “You baited me.”

Molayne gives Sophocles a dismissive blink, making him feel about as important as an ant. “You go anywhere with me if I’m offering free food.”

“That’s _so_ not true!” Sophocles protests, still with breaded words.

It’s at that moment, however, that his stomach decides to join the conversation with growls like an Arcanine’s and rumbles like a Dugtrio. Molayne bites back a laugh so aggressive, he has to scramble for a napkin just to make sure he doesn’t spray his drink all over the nice tablecloth.

_Traitor_ , Sophocles berates, glaring at his belly.

“Not a word from you, Mo,” he grunts, not bothering to stare at the contorted face of his cousin, barely keeping his mirth from shaking the entire restaurant.

When he’s finally free from choking on his own drink, Molayne simpers at him. “I wouldn’t _dream_ of teasing you, Soffy.”

Sophocles is in the middle of thinking up some witty remark when the overhead lights dim and the torches seem to get brighter. There are a few whoops in the crowd, but otherwise, the conversations wane with the lights. Feet pad along the smoothed wood of the stage like the shuffling of Togedemaru on Blush Mountain. Onstage stands a shirtless boy, about his age, flanked by two Marowak. 

Upon realizing who the boy is, Sophocles drops his fork. And his jaw.

Molayne looks over, his eyebrows raised. “Soffy?”

He tries to make his vocal cords move, but it’s difficult, and what comes out is scratchy and tense. “I-I know him,” he stutters.

“The dancer? Everyone knows Kiawe, fire captain of Akala,” Molayne jokes.

“No, I went to school with him!” Sophocles exclaims as quietly as he can. He wasn’t on bad terms with Kiawe, but they weren’t exactly friends during his time there. _And he was never shirtless in class…_

“Oh?” Molayne keeps his response short; frankly, he’s distracted, and Sophocles turns to see by what.

Kiawe and the Pokémon accompanying him start to move, Kiawe swinging his poi in two dangerous circles--rings of fire that threaten to lash at the user with every flick of oil. The flames dance on the wicks, converging into single lines of persimmon, moving according to Kiawe’s will and whims.

Kiawe’s body is much more illuminated than before, and Sophocles can see everything--the beads of sweat trickling down his abdomen, the flecks of red in his charcoal hair, the determination that’s so deeply etched into his face, proving a dedication to the tradition Sophocles had never really seen on Kiawe’s face before. Sophocles had definitely stared at Kiawe in their classes, but as far as tonight goes, he doesn’t think he’s blinked once.

Molayne, unfortunately, takes note.

“Kiawe wouldn’t happen to be the boy you tutored, would he? The one you blubbered about to me almost every night? ‘Hot as Wela and dense as the Lush Jungle’?”

Sophocles’ face is more than enough of an answer.

Molayne gives a devious grin. “Well, it seems you two might have to be reacquainted after his performance. I used to be a captain, after all! I’m sure we can make something happen.”

“R-Really, that won’t be necessary,” Sophocles stammers, feeling unbelievably warm.

“Nonsense! I’m sure he’ll be happy to see an old classmate.”

* * *

Naturally, Kiawe is flooded with fans after his performance, and Sophocles has found himself at the back of the line.

“You know, I could get us up there right away,” Molayne offers, scanning the vast crowd ahead of them. “Would you like that?”

_And let everyone else see me being a bumbling dolt in front of Kiawe?_

“No thanks, Mo,” Sophocles replies, rubbing his neck. “I’m patient.”

“Ah, you want to have a more _private_ interaction. I can arrange for that, too.”

Sophocles can only imagine what nasty things are going through Molayne’s head right now, and he decides right then and there that he has to stop this train of thought before things inevitably get worse. “I just want to talk with him! So I’ll wait!”

Molayne frowns. “Alright. But don’t get mad at me when we have to wait another hour before we can even see him.”

He doubts it will take that long, but even an hour might not be enough for Sophocles to get his thoughts together.

_What do I say to him when we finally get to talk?_

_Will he even remember who I am?_

He hopes so. Or at least he does at first. But then he thinks about what he was like in Trainers’ School and starts to reconsider. It doesn’t help that he barely talked even when he was helping Kiawe out individually. 

_He probably thinks I’m a dork that was only good at school._

Sophocles pauses.

_He’s probably right._

He sighs, feeling his body grow heavy without the oxygen; it wasn’t even _that_ big of a crush back then. Sure, Kiawe was handsome--that was undeniable. He was kind, too. Fiery, sure, but never insulting or attacking. And he never judged Sophocles for his interests and habits while they were in school, unlike some of his other classmates.

When he thinks about it more, it probably _was_ a really big crush. But at this rate, Kiawe will never know. Although, Sophocles isn’t even sure if he wants to tell him. 

Before he knows it, the restaurant is empty, and the only people left are Kiawe, a few more fans, him, and Molayne.

“Mo, I can’t do this,” he breathes.

“Soffy…?”

_“I can’t do this.”_

Molayne gives Sophocles a look. “Soffy. So you had a crush! It was a long time ago, and you’re just saying hi. It’s not a big deal.”

Sophocles sighs. “It’ll be weird. He’ll hate me.”

Molayne musses his hair a little, prompting Sophocles to scrunch up his nose. “You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure,” he groans, crossing his arms. “Don’t give me false hope.”

“There’s nothing inherently false about what I’m telling you,” Molayne assures him, turning back around in line.“Everything starts by saying hello. Just see where it goes from there!”

_Everything starts by saying hello…_

_It could be nice. Or he could totally hate me. Or even worse, he might not even know me. Is it worth finding out?_

Time’s up. He doesn’t have the luxury to consider it, as the path to Kiawe opens and before Sophocles can even open his mouth, they’re greeted with an enthusiastic cheer.

“Hey, Sophocles!”

_K-Kiawe?_

_He remembered who I am?_

Sophocles digs in his heels as Molayne nudges him forward. He leans down to whisper in his ear: “I promise, I’m doing you a favor. Just get through this conversation.”

_I’m gonna kill you later, Mo._

“Hey, Kiawe…” Sophocles mutters, rubbing the back of his intensely warm neck and avoiding eye contact. _Oh god, I’m gonna die_. But even that proves to be a mistake, because not looking at Kiawe’s face meant looking at his abs, somehow going even redder than he was just moments ago.

“Sophocles, it’s been so long,” Kiawe grins. “How have you been?”

_He really did remember me…_

Sophocles almost forgets to answer the question; he’s distracted by Kiawe and the fact that Molayne has mysteriously disappeared. “I-I’ve been alright, I guess,” he quickly stutters out. “I’ve been working on some inventions for the Hokulani Observatory, so that’s kept me busy. You uh…” He pauses to gesture to Kiawe’s… everything. “You look like you’re doing well.”

Pink erupts on his dark cheeks, much to Sophocles’ surprise. He’d have to reconsider his opinion on surprises.

“Y-Yeah, I guess so,” he says, scratching his head. “Captain duties are going well, and I get to dance on the side, which I love, so I can’t really complain.” 

_Where the hell did this side of Kiawe come from? Did I just not know the guy that well at school?_

That can’t be right though. Kiawe was just as kind then as he is right now. Sophocles never actually talked more than he had to, so he supposes this is just how he interacts with others.

“Well, I’m glad you’re so happy with what you’re doing!” Sophocles sputters, having forgotten how to continue the conversation.

_God, I hope that didn’t sound odd._

Kiawe smiles, but it’s not pressured or flustered. It’s entirely genuine, and it makes Sophocles heart thrash wildly inside his chest.

“Thanks, Soph,” he says with soft eyes.

_Soph?!_

Sophocles isn’t a very tan person, so when the red spreads from one cheekbone to the other, there’s not much he can do to hide it. Kiawe turns away to scratch his neck.

_Oh my god, he saw, he saw._

_Shoot._

_Welp, that’s it._

_I’ll have to move to Kanto and sell my body to survive._

Kiawe coughs, twisting his captain’s necklace. “Look, I might not have made it out of that school if you hadn’t helped me with my subjects. You were the only person kind enough to deal with me in all of my stupidity,” he finishes with a dry chuckle.

“You aren’t stupid!” Sophocles protests, grabbing Kiawe’s hand before his mind can tell him otherwise. Both of them turn the same violent shade of red, and Sophocles’s hand may or may not start sweating uncontrollably. “You aren’t stupid,” he repeats, trying to recover. “It just took a little bit longer for you to get the concepts, that’s all.”

Kiawe doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t try to pull away from him, either.

_God, just let me know what you’re thinking, Kiawe!_

They’ve been holding hands for far longer than they should, when Sophocles finally decides to let go. Kiawe hurriedly picks it right back up. 

“Let’s go get malasada. Right now.”

He’s completely serious, but it’s still the kindest invitation Sophocles has ever received. His silver words aren’t a command but a request.

Sophocles gulps. “O-Okay.”

* * *

“You’re kidding.”

“Well, what do we do now?” Sophocles asks. He never would have expected the malasada joint to be closed, even at this late an hour.

Kiawe is already calling a Charizard. “I texted Lana on the way over here just to have some sort of backup plan. She said we could go to Brooklet Hill even though it’s closed this late at night.”

Sophocles beams before nudging Kiawe. “And you think you’re not smart.”

_Whoa, where did that come from?_

Kiawe blushes. “It’s nothing. I really wanted to make sure tonight went well, Soph.”

_There’s that nickname again…_

They don’t have much time to contemplate it; their Charizard is there before they know it. It’s not until Kiawe hops on that Sophocles realizes he didn’t even attempt to call his own Charizard.

The boy looks down at him with a grin. “You getting on?”

“Y-Yeah, just gimme a sec,” Sophocles stammers. _God, I’m screwed._

Hopping onto the Charizard isn’t a problem, but frankly, Sophocles is a little concerned about the miniscule amount of space he has on the back of the Charizard with Kiawe. When it starts to flap its wings, Sophocles can’t help but wrap his arms around Kiawe and hold on for dear life. And if Sophocles feels Kiawe get a little warmer and even shudder, well, he doesn’t intend to comment on it.

After a while, the only thing Sophocles is aware of is Kiawe’s strong heartbeat; a steadiness against the erratic whips of wind and the cries of nocturnal creatures.

“Kiawe…”

There’s no response, but Sophocles notices Kiawe’s heartbeat grow just the slightest bit faster.

He smiles knowingly to himself.

When they land, it’s somehow even darker out, despite the full moon. Patches of dusk have threaded into the terrain. Kiawe thanks the Charizard, letting him roam through the night before turning to Sophocles. “Let’s walk.”

It’s a different sight when the sun’s not out, but it’s still beautiful. The lagoons beside the well worn path bubbles quietly and even the Pokémon seem to sing a different song--one that’s calm, even balletic. They’re close to each other as they walk--every now and then, their hands brush together and Sophocles’ spine goes stiff. 

It’s after about the fifth time it happens that Kiawe comments on it. “Jeez, I don’t make you _that_ nervous, do I?”

“No!” Sophocles quickly objects, just as quickly as his hand finds his way to his neck.

_Well, that’s not quite true. You do make me nervous._

_Just not in the way you’re thinking, probably._

“I was so surprised when you walked up to me back in the restaurant,” Kiawe muses, keeping up their pace. “Most people that see me dance are strangers.”

Sophocles gives a little laugh, jogging a little to keep up with Kiawe. “I’m sure you have some regulars, what with how well you dance.”

Kiawe sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to be original when so many of your ancestors have danced before you.”

“Well, I thought you were amazing!” Sophocles blurts, driving a stake right through Kiawe’s bout of solemnity.

It works, because there’s a smile that dances its way onto the fiery boy’s lips. “Thank you, Soph. You always were incredibly kind to me.”

“Hah, I’m glad you think that,” Sophocles puffs.

Kiawe slows down a little. “You’re kidding, right?” Sophocles matches pace, his breaths hesitant. “Even the teachers had started to give up on me back in the Trainers’ School. You were the only one that believed in me, or at least the only one that was willing to spend time with me.”

“That can’t be--”

“It’s the truth,” Kiawe states. 

They’ve both stopped walking, their feet rooting them to stony terraces surrounded by cascading waterfalls.

“If I’m being completely honest, we probably didn’t need to spend as many hours studying together as we did. Yeah, I was slow. But I wasn’t _that_ slow.”

In contrast to their footpace, Sophocles feels his heartbeat rapidly increasing. “But if you didn’t need to spend that much time with me, why did you?”

He knows he’s fishing. He knows what he wants to hear. But there’s still a doubt--one that’s been attached to him through years of teasing and sneering. Why would Kiawe--beautiful, kind, Kiawe--be willing to put up with overweight, nerdy, Sophocles?

The very notion is foreign to him.

“Are you really gonna make me spell it out for you?” Kiawe says with a sigh. “Being with you made me happy. Insanely happy. Happier than I’d ever been.”

Sophocles treads carefully. “Because I was a really great friend…?”

“No, you doofus! I was,” he coughs, and quiets his voice. “Am. In love with you.”

The bluntness of Kiawe’s words are enough to beat his head in, and Sophocles’ legs threaten to give in right then and there.

“I’m in love with your kindness and your wit. I’m in love with the belly that you seem to be so ashamed of for no damn reason!” Kiawe exclaims, grabbing onto Sophocles’ shoulders. “I’m in love with every ounce of your being and I’ve been trying to tell you this whole damn time!”

Sophocles can’t find it in himself to speak.

_Kiawe? In love with me?_

“Y-You can’t possibly be in love with me,” Sophocles finally gets out, his words catching on his teeth.

Kiawe sighs. “You were always teaching me back then.” He grips Sophocles’ shoulders and pulls them closer. “Let me teach you something: all those people that teased you, called you names, or worse--they didn’t know _shit_ about you. They couldn’t notice perfection if it beat them on every single test in school.”

Kiawe rests his forehead against Sophocles’. “You drive me crazy, and you don’t even believe it,” he sighs.

“Of course I don’t!” Sophocles flusters, even with their closeness. “ _Me_ , getting to be with _you?_ It’s ridiculous!”

“Well, let me know if this is ridiculous, then,” Kiawe mutters, before his head shifts down.

It’s soft--softer than he’s expecting--when Kiawe’s lips collide with his own. There’s no fireworks that go off, no pomp and circumstance. Chatots don’t sing, and orchestras don’t play. All that’s there is Kiawe and Sophocles. He’s a bit tall, so Sophocles gets on his toes to deepen the kiss, and Kiawe has the gall to chuckle.

“Not a _word_ ,” Sophocles vibrates against Kiawe’s lips, before kissing him once again. Kiawe is more than happy to comply.

And if they happen to make plans to get malasada the next day, well, maybe it’s not so ridiculous after all.


End file.
